


Never Break the Chain

by Drag0nst0rm



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Fix-It, Gen, Halls of Mandos, Technically character death but it takes place in the afterlife so -, Temporary Character Death, platonic handholding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 17:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20782292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: The Halls of Mandos operate by rules that Feanor would really rather do without.





	Never Break the Chain

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [Never Break the Chain【授权翻译】](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25989781) by [oliviaireth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliviaireth/pseuds/oliviaireth)

> I don't own the Silmarillion or "The Chain" by Fleetwood Mac from which our title comes.
> 
> Story requested by isharemydeathdaywithfeanor who wanted Finwe and his sons, family, and "that escalated quickly."
> 
> If there's one thing the house of Finwe is good at, it's escalation.

The Halls of Mandos were seemingly endless.

Feanor said ‘seemingly’ because the walls were also endlessly shifting, and it was impossible to take any kind of accurate measurement under those conditions.

The walls were misty grey, and every so often they dissolved back to banks of fog that roiled through the caverns until they solidified back into walls, now in entirely new configurations.

It was an unsolvable labyrinth, and Feanor’s frustration with it only grew when the walls dissipated and reformed just as he caught his first glimpse of another fëa in the Halls. When the walls were solid once more, the other figure had vanished form sight, now Mandos only knew how many turns of the labyrinth away from him. 

That happened twice more in quick succession - too many times for it to be mere coincidence. Apparently, Mandos preferred to keep them in isolation. Perhaps he thought it would encourage reflection.

Feanor had been an inch away from one of his followers, both of them having sprinted towards each other, when a wall went up between them. The only thing Feanor was reflecting on was his desire to punch Mandos in the teeth.

He stalked around a corner and immediately bumped into someone who was about waist high.

He looked down. A little girl was staring up at him with wide eyes. She suddenly burst into tears and flung her arms around his waist.

The walls were already dissolving. Feanor might not have had any daughters, but he’d had plenty of children. It was instinct to drop to his knees and wrap his arms around her to give her what little comfort he could before they were separated.

“It’s alright,” he told her in a voice too rushed to be as soothing as he’d like. “It’s going to be alright.”

The mist roiled around them, but it hesitated as it drew close, tendrils darting in and out as if confused.

Like it didn’t know where one of them ended and the other began, he realized.

The walls reformed around them, and they were still together. 

The little girl sniffled. “What happened?”

“The walls here move sometimes,” he told her. “It’s like … like a puzzle.”

She looked down fearfully. “The floor doesn’t move here, does it? It moved on the Ice. It moved, and then I was falling, and it was really cold, and I couldn’t breathe - “

“It’s alright,” he told her. “You’re alright. The floor won’t move here.”

She took a shuddering breath that technically she no longer needed. “Good.”

“Why were you on the Ice in the first place?” he demanded.

She shrugged. “We were going to take the boats, but then Atya said we couldn’t, so we had to walk.” Her nose wrinkled. “It was cold.”

Nolofinwe had not turned back to Tirion with his tail tucked between his legs. Nolofinwe had led his people onto the Ice.

Feanor was going to kill him.

The girl sniffed again. “I want Amil,” she said. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know.” Feanor didn’t even know if the girl’s mother was dead, but saying so hardly seemed helpful. “Why don’t we look for her together?”

“Okay.” She started to pull away.

He held his hand out hastily. “Hold onto my hand, alright?”

She clasped it trustingly. “So I don’t get lost?”

Feanor threw a suspicious look at the grasping walls. “Exactly.”

The next time they ran into someone, Feanor pulled the girl - Lariel, he’d found out she was called - into his arms and took off running. He just managed to grab the soldier’s wrist before the world turned to mist around them.

The soldier was one of his and happy to see him, if a bit confused. “Sire?”

“It’s the only way to stay together,” Feanor explained.

“And it’s scary to be alone,” Lariel said solemnly from his arms. “But it’s okay now, we found you. Do you want to hold my hand?”

By the time they ran into Fingolfin, they had a long chain of fëar linked hand to hand in a carefully winding line of people. The line stretched around corners and through intersections, but they were all still together.

Fingolfin froze. _“You.”_

“Me,” Feanor agreed and promptly grabbed his half-brother’s hand.

Fingolfin immediately started trying to tug it free, presumably on general principle. “What are you _doing?”_

“It’s the only way to stick together in here,” Feanor said grimly. “Trust me, I don’t like it any more than you do.”

Fingolfin stopped fighting and seemed to take in the chain of souls for the first time. His mouth drifted open a little before he snapped it shut. “It’s going to feel a little awkward to shout at you while we’re holding hands.”

“Well, I’ve a bit of shouting that I’d like to do too, so we’ll just have to make do. You can switch to someone else the next time we get to a junction big enough to reorganize. Aredhel’s about ten rows back, I think. She’ll be happy to see you.”

“Aredhel?” Fingolfin’s face twisted in fear and longing as he immediately started craning his neck in an attempt to catch a glimpse of her. “We were so afraid when we didn’t hear - Is Turgon - ?”

“According to Aredhel, Turgon and Idril were both well when she came to join us,” Feanor reported. “We haven’t had anyone from Turgon’s city since then, so she has the most recent news.” He decided he had better let her be the one to share that Fingolfin now had a grandson. “Speaking of news, how are my sons?”

Fingolfin’s mouth twisted. “I don’t know.” He related the news of the last attack although he left the circumstances of his own death out of it entirely. “But if you haven’t found them - “

“That means nothing,” Feanor interrupted, more harshly than he’d meant to. “We still haven’t found Atar after all this time.”

Fingolfin deflated a bit. “Oh.” He looked down at their entwined hands. “I still can’t get used to this.”

“It’s this or a hug.”

“Handholding it is.”

Fingolfin was sandwiched between Aredhel and Feanor when they finally found Finwe.

As soon as they saw him, Feanor lunged forward to wrap him in a one-armed embrace.

“Feanaro,” Finwe breathed then, blinking, took in the rest of the scene. “Nolofinwe? And Irisse?”

“I figured out the secret of sticking together,” Feanor explained. “Things escalated from there.”

Considering they now had a moderately sized army stretching out behind them, escalated definitely seemed like the right word for it.

They had collected all of Fingolfin’s children and all but one of Feanor’s when Mandos’s voice echoed through the Halls and announced that for his heroism, Fingolfin was to be released.

The walls slowly parted to make a small door. Golden light shone through.

The whole great line came to a halt.

Feanor looked at his brother. “I’ll see you at the breaking of the world, then,” he said with his mouth twisting into something that could almost count for a smile.

But Fingolfin’s brow was furrowed. “They can’t tell where one of us ends and another begins in here,” he said slowly. “So why should the exit be any different?”

They should probably stop and consider all the possible implications of that, Feanor considered very, very briefly, but there was hardly any time.

And instead of beginning the careful gymnastics normally necessary to keep the chain unbroken upon a release, Fingolfin tightened his grip on Fingon and Aredhel’s hands and began to lead the whole chain forward like the leader of a particularly imbalanced flock of geese.

Finwe’s own grip loosened in Feanor’s hand. “Try it without me,” he said. “The Valar - “

“The Valar will have to figure out a different solution,” Feanor said, and he dragged him and a stunned Maedhros along.

Fingolfin pushed through first and since he was near the front of the chain, the left wing of it followed quickly while the right wing marched out almost endlessly behind him. Most probably didn’t even know they were being led out, just that the chain had gone this way, and they would go with it.

Golden light washed over Feanor has he emerged, flushed with a faint heat.

Sunlight, he supposed. He had wondered what it felt like.

Finarfin was standing before before the growing crowd with his mouth hanging open.

“I was told to expect Fingolfin,” he said a little faintly.

“I’m here,” Fingolfin assured him cheerfully. “But one thing led to another in there, and, well … “ He looked back at the endless line. “I think just about everyone else decided to come too.”


End file.
